Today I wake up in yet another new home.

Yesterday morning, we awakened to water in the home where I had evacuated the day before.  We prayed about what to do, and decided that we would stay put.  First responders were telling folks not to evacuate unless they were in danger; the support structure was already strained nearly to the limit.

With internet and electricity, coffee and good companionship, I was able to stay connected with the parish, praying Morning Prayer via Facebook live, not once but twice, because there had been some confusion about when we were actually going to pray the Office–being able to pray is always a good thing.

By noonday, the septic tank in the Akards’ home was no longer working, and trees began to fall in the back yard taking down the power lines.  That was when we decided that we were no longer safe.  Carrying out a very large dog, two cats, and provisions through the flooded drive way to my friend’s Subaru, we were able to drive out; somehow, the road was still passable.  A block later, we were surprised to find houses above water and the road clear.  Such a mystery of flowing water.

Charting our way north via a phone map that told us where roads would be flooded, with only one incident of high water, we were able to drive to Fairfield subdivision, where my friends and I separated with goodbye hugs to our new homes.

The youngest son of my new host family had kindly cleared out his room for me to use–“because it has a private bath.”

For the third time in a little over a year, I find my temporary home being a child’s room.

Showered and filled with a warm bowl of homemade soup, we gathered around the family’s dining room table at 5 PM for Holy Eucharist.  Neighbors joined us, and we were eleven celebrating the Lord’s meal.  Via the gift of internet, close to 4,000 people celebrated Communion together.

Today is another day.

Shortly I’ll go back to the dining room table and pray Noonday Prayer with my host family and our internet community.

Our Curate, Alan’s+, internet is out and water is rising near his home.  He is with his wife and two very delightful and active sons, and he has their safety in mind.  Still he continues to coordinate relief efforts for our parish via his phone with limited cell coverage.  He provides pastoral care from afar.

Our Senior Warden traveled through flood waters to serve with relief efforts at the church.  His wife, who is in the midst of cancer treatment, came to my house and helped move items to safety. Their special needs daughter has just received a diagnosis of a syndrome with a terminal outcome.   Yet they continue to serve others.

I am deeply moved by the generosity of people who are no longer strangers but companions in the way.  Story after story after story about how God works through people, whether they know they are doing God’s work or not.

People who never pray are praying.  I’ve been pondering the twenty-four prayer vigil that is going on right now.  A vigil God may have been calling us to for some time now, and to which we have finally said yes.

These are ways that God is active and responding and working through terrible disaster.

Good morning God, this is your day.  I am your child.  Please show me your way.  

 

When we saw that the roads were unsafe for travel to church for worship today, our Curate, Alan+, and I decided to livestream the Office via St. Mary’s Facebook pages.

While Alan+ was praying Morning Prayer via Facebook at eight, I was joined by parishioners at the Rectory who had come to help me finish moving as many belongings as possible upstairs.  Cypress Creek had flooded again, and waters were rising closer and closer to home.

In a couple of hours, the house was as prepared as it could be, and wearing my pretty turquoise boots, a gift from a friend during the Tax Day Flood a year ago, we hiked out through a neighbor’s yard to dryer ground.

At noon, I put on my collar and prayed Noonday prayers from the dining room table of dear parishioners, the Akard, who have offered me hospitality.

At five, Alan+ prayed Evening Prayer, and at eight, we ended the day back at the Akards’ table praying Compline.  John, an acolyte at St. Mary’s, lit a candle.  We prayed one of my favorite prayers, from the New Zealand Prayer Book:

Lord,
it is night.

The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.

It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done;
let it be.

The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives
rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us,
and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities.

In your name we pray.
Amen.

My neighbor has reported that water has indeed entered the Rectory, already at a level a few inches higher than the Tax Day Flood.  It continues to rain.  We pray for unexpected joy and possibility tomorrow.

May the Lord Almighty grant us a peaceful night and a perfect end.  AMEN

On Monday, on a perfect Oregon summer day in Bend, I spent the morning in my son’s backyard watching a 96% eclipse. It was glorious!  The bonus was that it was my son’s birthday, and for the first time in I can’t remember how many years I got to be with my son to celebrate his birthday. This included getting to bake his favorite chocolate pie with my grandsons. 

  

O ye nights and days, bless ye the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.                                 

O ye light and darkness, bless ye the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.

On Tuesday, the winds shifted, and smoke and ash from fires twenty miles away began to blow towards Bend, and by afternoon the pollution made it unsafe to go outside. 

O ye fire and heat, bless ye the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.

On Wednesday, my grandsons and I were having a lovely lolling day, largely inside because of the continuing smoke and ash outside, when I got a text from a friend that she was praying for me ahead of the storm. 

What storm?  Turns out a hurricane was likely approaching Houston this weekend, right about the time I was scheduled to fly home. 

I have to admit. My flood-ptsd kicked in. Would I be able to get home? Would my newly restored home be flooded again? 

O ye Showers and Dew, bless ye the Lord:  praise him, and magnify him for ever.                               

O ye Winds of God, bless ye the Lord:  praise him, and magnify him for ever.

On Thursday, I tried to find my centered in God place.  It was difficult not to be distracted.  It was a challenge not to keep going to the internet.  It was a hard not to go into anxiety mode. I knew that I was safe with my family, and I had that day to play with my grandboys. 

So I took them rock climbing. It was Austin’s second time so he already felt like a pro. Jonas, four, was not so sure. Austin geared up with rock climbing shoes and safety harness and began to climb.  Jonas and I watched below as Austin climbed, slipped, climbed again, and finally rappelled down.  After watching Austin face challenges and persevere and delight at accomplishments, Jonas was ready to climb. 

The image of a four and seven year old climbing as high they could, and even when they fell, to be in no danger is an image for my prayer heart. 

Their cries of,  “Grandma, look at me!  Grandma, did you see that?  Grandma, look how high I am!” are good prayer versicles. 

God, look at us. God, did you see that?  God, look how high we are!

The memory of their climbing shoes and safety harnesses are a reminder of God’s presence with us, protecting our steps, keeping us safe even when we fall. 

 O ye priests of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.                          

O ye servants of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.                       

O give thanks unto the Lord, because he is gracious: for his mercy endureth for ever.                          

O all ye that worship the Lord, bless the God of gods, praise him, and give him thanks: for his mercy endureth for ever.

(Canticle from the Apocryphal book of The Prayer of Azariah)

One of the best decisions we made when renovating the Rectory was to knock down three walls. Now I can sit in my prayer chair in the very front room and see all the way through the house to the back yard.  From the front of the house, I can watch a bevy of colored birds in my backyard feast from the bird feeder;  I can enjoy them snacking on my sunflowers which seem to grow with especially happy abandon this year. 

I never imagined that removing walls could  make such a difference.  I see beauty that I never saw when the walls blocked my view. 

My wide open spaces have made me reflect on other walls we build to separate us from others. 

I’ve thought for some time that building a wall along the border between the US and Mexico seemed silly. It feels like an awfully expensive way to make us feel safer–with little actual effect on security. My research has indicated that there are better and more efficient means of keeping our borders safe.  Since we aren’t proposing a wall built between us and Canada, I wonder if the US–Mexican  wall is more about separating us from people who look and speak differently from us.  

As I watched and read this past week’s news, it appears right now we may be in more danger from American citizens who want us only to welcome folks that look like them.  What wall keeps us safe from that separatism?

I’d personally rather spend wall money on health care for those of lesser means, especially women, children, and those of riper years. I’d rather make Texas known for it’s excellence in public education.  If we must build something, why not improve our bridges and roads?  That’s just a start of my instead of a wall list.   Some might say that I am veering into politics, but these ponderings are my response to those five baptismal vows I get to re-up on nearly every month during worship. 

Here’s a small way I’m living my baptismal covenant:  I’ve begun to knit a 40 inch wall. It will become part of an art installation in Chicago at the Smart Museum of Art. Knitters, quilters, crocheters have been invited to create forty inch squares for something called The Welcome Blanket Project.  The curators are hoping to receive 3200 squares to represent the proposed 2000 mile wall between Mexico and the United States.  After the exhibit, the squares will be given as blankets to refugees that are allowed entry into our wonderful country. 

Every stitch in my 40 inch square is a prayer.  I’m praying for God’s loving kindness and hospitality for us all.  I’m imagining walls coming down. I’m imagining us all seeing the beauty in one another that we miss when walls block our view.